“Is it dark enough now, Aish?” she purred in his ear.
Without even looking, since her room was the same layout as his, he reached over and slapped at the light switch by the balcony door, bathing the room in darkness that he didn’t even care about as he wrapped his hands around her neck and took her mouth with his.
Her tongue welcomed his with a smooth lick as she gripped his wrists and rolled her hips, tasting him and letting him taste as her soft, flower-covered pussy got him ready.
She tugged her head back and smacked a hand against his chest when he tried to follow. “So are we going to do this, Aish?” she said, and he could feel her breath against his open, gasping mouth.
“Are we going to fuck in the dark until the month is over?” Her voice sprinkled over him like Spanish fly.
“Are we going to take each other until it’s out of our systems?” He could feel the slightest silk of her lips, the barest tease of her tongue at his mouth. But she wouldn’t give it to him. Not without an answer.
“Yeah, Sofia. Yeah.” Then he pulled her in rough and hard and invaded her mouth, wholly and wetly, and trapped her with muscles he’d reformed for her, and kept his tongue busy so he couldn’t say what was vibrating through him.
Never, Sofia. You’ll never be out of my system.
He felt nimble fingers at his shirt buttons.
He let go of her mouth with a wet suck and then opened his eyes, looking up at her. But there was only the vaguest suggestion of her outline and the swing of her hair—right, the dark—so he couldn’t see what was on her face. But, fuck, he could feel.
His girl was undressing him.
She tilted back a little to get to the last buttons then, when his shirt was all the way open, she tugged it wide. His stomach, his chest, the whole story he’d inked there, were exposed to the dark, the warmed air between them, the sacred atmosphere of her room. He was still in his tux coat.
When she put her hands on his stomach, his abs contracted under the touch.
“Are my hands cold?” she asked softly.
“Are you fucking kidding, Sofia?” he groaned, not soft at all, and she laughed and he wanted to die and she slowly, lingeringly stroked those much-loved hands over his stomach and ribs and pecs and sides and treasure trail and belly button and sternum and armpits and collarbone and shoulders and down his arms, tracing legends she couldn’t see, pushing everything off until he had to lurch away from her hands and tug off his cuffs himself because he was about to come in his pants.
His cock did jump beneath her, did get wet at the tip, when he straightened again and heard her give a soft, involuntary coo of pleasure.
“You’re so...” She sighed and fuck. It was too much, too good and too bad, that she liked what she saw when she could barely see him. He didn’t want to be an anonymous good lay for her. He didn’t want her to lose track of what this meant.
He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her up against him. “Your beautiful fucking neck,” he growled against it, licking up the long line of it, wanting her to hear his voice, wanting her shivers to belong to him. “I took for granted all the beautiful skin you used to show me. Now all I get is your beautiful fucking neck. I’m obsessed. It’s my newest kink.” He sucked it filthy where it met her shoulder, just to prove him true, and she quivered under his mouth. “I can’t see your legs,” he said, working his mouth slowly over the skin. “Or your tits...or your ass...or your pretty, pretty cunt. So I think dirty, dirty thoughts about this beautiful...” Biting it. “Gorgeous...” Sucking it. “Fucking...” Loving it. “Neck.”
She was gasping, boneless, nerves trembling just under her skin against him. She mumbled something against his shoulder.
“What, Sofia?” he asked. He tilted up her chin. Now he had her attention, now he could be tender, sweet. He softly kissed her lips. “What, baby?”
“Take off your pants,” she said.
Guh. This woman. He dipped his hands under her skirt. “You first,” he said, hands stroking up her legs to reach for her panties. Stroking up taut thighs, round hips, and soft warm panty-free ass.
Fuuuuuuuck. This woman.
With a growl, he lifted her up against him as she gasped and laughed, squeezed her ass and gave it a slap, then took her mouth. She buried her hands in his hair and pulled it just like he liked.
“Get naked, Aish,” she commanded against his mouth. “Get me naked.”
And he did, pulled her free of all that gauzy dress, over her head and her shaking out her hair like a cloud. Smacked away her hands when she tried to help with his fly, lifting her high, naked, nipple in his mouth as he took care of it himself, stood and struggled out of pants and socks and shoes, never letting her go, then straddling the bench again, warm leather against his ass and thighs, hot Sofia straddling his lap and in his arms.
Her skin, God, her skin, the bright glow of it against him even if he couldn’t see it in the dark. Overwhelmed, he pressed his forehead against her neck and mouthed at the smooth plane of her chest. She was silky smooth. She was so warm. She smelled like home.
“Aish,” she murmured, into his hair, and she stroked her strong fingers down the muscles of his back. Dug into the muscles above his ass and tilted her hips against him.
The trim bush that stroked his cock was already wet.
“Que bonito, que guapo,” she murmured in the secret air between them. “The feel of you, Aish. So good, so long and hard and gorgeous.”
She lifted up, brushing dampness up his contracting abs
